


anemoi thuellai

by mostlikelydefinentlymad



Series: the weight of us (stand alone s4 fic) [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Episode: s402 The Lying Detective, Gen, POV Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock had a bad childhood, Sherlock playing pirates, Sherlock's Past, Siblings, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, growing up Holmes, no actual animal abuse, sherlock s4, vague mentions of animal abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-09
Updated: 2017-01-09
Packaged: 2018-09-15 23:59:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9264848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mostlikelydefinentlymad/pseuds/mostlikelydefinentlymad
Summary: You cannot own a person.You cannot own an animal.You can only love it and hope you're worthy of the same."Land ho!," Captain Holmes calls.





	

**Author's Note:**

> (this was written pre-TFP so pardon the age difference and any details that are off)

The captain hoists his sail and beams at a crystal blue sky. There isn't a cloud in sight and if he calculated it correctly, they should reach dry land within a half hour. They've been toddling about the open sea for months now without the outside world stepping in and casting a dark shadow overhead. 

At his side, his faithful first mate catches some much needed rest. The afternoon sun kisses long copper locks as he rests; oblivious to his gleeful admirer. 

"Thirty minutes, fourty tops," Sherlock announces to the snoring dog. 

He breathes in fresh air that smells of sea and salt. The wind brushes wild brunette curls as seagulls fly overhead. It's a good birthday, this one. In this safe haven, no one could touch him or threaten to do unspeakable acts of violence. There were no harsh whispers about _P_ _eculiar behavior in a child of this age_ or  _I take great pride in calling myself a Holmes. I will not have you taint such a name with your vile theories, William._

 

Unlike the remaining members of the Holmes family, Redbeard has never judged. Not once. They have an unspoken understanding; an unbreakable bond built on mighty adventures and loyalty. 

The dog snorts once; loud enough to rouse himself from a deep slumber and Sherlock giggles. Every person in the world should own a dog, he thinks. But then again, he could never love like ownership. He could never love like objects and treat an animal as if their existence teeters upon how good they are at entertaining. He and Redbeard are equals in this life and there's no point in holding onto something you love until your fingernails bleed. No need in calling another being a possession. Love obeys its own rules; not those set for it by the ignorant who assume animals, like people, are incapable of showing affection without premise. 

You cannot own a person. 

You cannot own an animal. 

You can only love it and hope you're worthy of the same. 

 

"Land ho!," Captain Holmes calls. He clutches a hand whittled birchwood sword and points it toward the sky in an outward show of victory. They'd ridden out the harsh waves and survived to see the gentle lapping of pale blue water against sand. 

Having arrived at his destination, Sherlock clamors out of the boat. Before him lies thick palm trees swaying in the breeze, the sea between his toes, the air in his lungs-

 

"Sherlock."

He turns to see a fourteen year old girl with Mummy's shrewd eyes and hair that falls in dark waves at her shoulders. Her pale skin and petite frame give her an air of vulnerability that forever seems out of place. It's a dangerous illusion. 

The sky fades to beige walls, his boat reverts to its original miniature height, his bedroom comes into view. It's lackluster at best and the only proof of his existence is a cluttered desk stacked with books and papers. The spacious dwelling suddenly feels devoid of oxygen and warmth. This is no place for the living. A person could wither here. He wants to run away with Redbeard at his side and never return.

Eurus crosses her arms and nudges Redbeard with the toe of her freshly shined dress boots. From Sherlock's much shorter angle she appears darker, more sinister. It makes his skin crawl.

"You know he's going to die someday. And when he does he'll be nothing more than bones and a strange smell until another dog digs deep enough into the soil to unearth him. After that, he'll pop up and become a ferocious animal with snarling teeth that draw blood when they graze your skin. Much like a vampire but better. It'll make for fine entertainment."

The words accompany a smile that comes off as a sneer mixed with disgust. Such a pretty face, such an ugly soul. 

 _I'll never be like that. I could never be that cruel,_ he thought.  _I'd rather die._

 

"Go away," Sherlock mutters.

She chooses to ignore the command and continues to prattle on. "By no less than ten days, he will begin to ooze fluid. Don't you find that fascinating,  _Sherly?_ I promise I'll be gentle when I dissect him and if you're real nice I'll even set aside the heart."

She grins, eyes shining. "When it's time I'll be sure to let you know so you can assist. You'd like that wouldn't you, Sherly?"

Sensing danger, Redbeard begins to bark and lowers himself into a defensive pose. 

Sherlock's eyes begin to fill up with tears. He pulls the dog closer, danger be damned. "I'm telling mummy," he threatens.

Eurus laughs, throwing back her head. "Do you really think she'd believe an eleven year old who once set her cupboard on fire and blamed the neighbors cat? Or knicked her cigarettes? Ruined her favorite dress by trying it on? Mm I love it when you're naive, little brother."

She bends at the waist and roughly pats the dog. Redbeard growls threateningly and bares his teeth. 

" _Somebody's_ in a poor mood. ...How about this? I'm going to cook up a nice pot of gravy just for you and if you catch me in the right mood I might even throw in my secret ingredient. You're familiar with that, Sherly." 

Poison.

Her weapon of choice.

Sherlock begins to tremble at the very thought of losing his companion. "This island is full of scavengers, Redbeard. Lets go." The words come out unsteady and weak; both of which are practically cardinal sins in the Holmes household. He can hear mummy's voice ringing in his ears, reciting: _Holmes children are strong and intelligent - not jumpy and nervous. Now contain yourself, William, or_ I _will._

Eurus grins and begins to walk away slowly. "The East wind is coming Sherlock," she taunts. A sing song voice in a carnival of her own making. 

He hugs the dog to his chest and buries tear streaked cheeks in Redbeards sun warmed fur. 

 

Two weeks later, Eurus has been shipped off to an exclusive private school for deliquent children with severe behavioral issues. 

 

"Where to, Redbeard?"  

Captain Holmes closes his eyes and begins to construct a world where the East wind is nothing more than a hapless children's fairytale. 


End file.
